Yesterday I followed the big boys into the side country and I had a fantastic time and I separated my shoulder. Then I accidentally started this rumor that I got mauled by a big cat, which isn't true at all. I got mauled by the last piece of a shot called Mega Bunny and also by my own ego.
It was supposed to be a mellow day. I was planning on meeting up with some new friends and maybe doing a few warm up runs before suggesting some
off piste exploration. But they are lunatic-good skiers, and they were in full force by the time I found them. They came swooping off the chairlift chanting my name which, you know, I really liked.
'MELINA! WE JUST RAN THE BUNNY!' said Dod. He's Australian so everything he says always sounds agreeable. 'AND NOW WE'RE DOING....MEGA BUNNY! AND SO ARE YOU!' I had no idea what the bunny was and I still have no idea, and the ski patrol guy who wrapped me into a mummy an hour later swore it doesn't exist, but he was senile.
So we got to the top of seventh heaven, took off our skis and started hiking up in the direction of cowboy mountain. The deadly tunnel creek avalanche occurred one year go exactly and the ridge was littered with flowers.
Then we pointed our skis down and sank into the side country on the most soft, fresh, thick, silent, silky powder there's ever been. The kind of shit people leave their husbands for. I've barely ever experienced anything more luxurious and perfect in my whole life, and I've taken a lot of extremely pleasant bubble baths...so...
I was working my way down, turn by turn, maintaining control through dense forest as we traversed West. Holly flew around me in graceful arcs while Dod and Jamison caught air and careened through the trees. We were all euphoric as clams, a handful of pearls in a happy oyster. I was enjoying myself immensely.
Then I saw that the run finally mellowed out, but there was a creek in between the steep and the mellow and I decided to try and hit it straight on. I hit it and it was great and glorious, but then I spun out mid air and landed entirely on my left shoulder and elbow and there was a series of crackles and pops and stretchy sounds like somebody chewing a Rice Krispie treat while blowing bubble gum and also loudly separating their shoulder.
I started laughing, my face a foot deep in the aforementioned powder. Laughing was the option that made me look the least pathetic, so I laughed. The others started laughing too and cheering and kept on going. I struggled to my feet. It hurt quite a bit. I tenderly skied out on a long tight traverse that whipped and pirouetted between trees, unable to move my left arm at all.
The others ran the Bunny again but I thought I'd use this excuse to go flirt like hell with ski patrol. Surely the first aid station could dole out a good looking bearded man who would gingerly remove me from my layers and give me a good DCAPBTLS search. I do have a thing for paramedics, if history has taught me anything, especially when they're dyslexic. Unfortunately I got Bob, who was older than life and senile. He bundled my shoulder in a triangle bandage, then leaned in closer and said, "Honey, now if you were Egyptian, this would look like a beautiful necklace."
I stared at him, and my friend Jenny stared at him, and then I said "Thank you, Bob." Before I left he gave me a bag of snow.
I joined Jenny and her gaggle of good looking Leavenworth folks and drank a few beers. This is when the rumors began. A beautiful girl named Lacey helped me retie my mummy thing into an actually sling. I put up a picture of my arm on Instagram and told everyone I'd been mauled. Now I know that people associate the word 'maul' with 'animal attack, ' but I wasn't really aware of that before. For the next five hours I got messages from friends and blog readers saying "what was it that mauled you???? wild boar?? bear???" And I was too embarrassed to say it was just me, just me being an idiot, so I kept my responses really vague.
By the time I got back to Seattle, I needed help getting out of my coat. So my friend Fozz came over and helped me out of my coat. He brought wine but I decided I needed something heavier. I dragged him down the street to the High Life for their frozen creme de menth cookie desert. But it didn't help. It dawned on me I ought to go to the emergency room. Which I did.
They treated me very nicely, undressed me and took some X-rays. The nurse said "Now honey I'm going to give you some narcotics for the pain, who is driving you home?" And I said, "Nobody! I'll just walk!" And I laughed, which somehow made me seem less pathetic. She shrugged and gave me the good stuff. They covered me in heated blankets. Adam texted me every arm and shoulder pun he could come up with and I cackled like a Vicodin soaked hen. I was thoroughly cooked when I got home and I fell asleep like a breeze.
It was the best day.
And now for some horrific, one armed yoga moves and the waiting.
